by M Murphy
“Why is there nothing for the James Family after the Civil War?” Hannah asked.
“There was nothing for me to find. It was as if the family had been wiped off the face of the Earth during the war.”
“Interesting.” Hannah said as she began to pilfer through my work.
She was bent over, elbows on the granite counter, as she shuffled papers and organized the pages to suit her needs. Her hair was in a ponytail with one loose strand dropping in front of her left eye. Hannah kept tucking it back behind her ear only to have it fall again. I watched the battle between her and her hair for a few moments thinking how much easier it would be simply to redo her ponytail, but I was a guy, so what did I know?
Hannah stood up, cocked her head and looked at me for a moment. She then bit her thumbnail and walked back into the bedroom. A few seconds later she came out with her trusty tablet. The scrolling went on for a couple minutes as her fingers hurriedly stroked the screen of the electronic device. When they stopped she read, looked at the papers spread along the counter, read from the tablet again, and finally looked up at me with a smile.
“Come over here.” She said to me.
I walked to her side of the counter and followed her lead as she bent over a map of the Charleston region I had used to mark properties. Hannah reached for a pen and began to make marks across the Charleston peninsula and finally connected them with a couple lines.
“What do you see?” She asked.
I looked over the map. “A cross.”
Chapter 50
“I know what you’re thinking.” Hannah said. “Anyone can pick points on a map and draw a cross, but look here.” Hannah pulled the tablet up and produced a document that appeared to be a scholarly paper.
“From your professor friend at Columbia?”
“Yes.” She said. “Now, he proposed that the KGC used a series of symbols that when laid across a map could pinpoint the location of a hidden cash. The first step was to pinpoint markers in the area and then lay the symbol on the map trying to line up the markers with points on the symbol.”
“We’ve only found two markers, and one of those doesn’t even line up with your cross.” I wasn’t too optimistic at this point.
“The first marker, St. Phillip’s, was a keystone or a map to the actual markers. 1 Broad Street is a real indicator. You mentioned that Gadsden’s Wharf held a connection to the Trenholms and the James Family. Well, it lines up with my cross, and now happens to be named Liberty Square. Home to the Fort Sumter Visitors Center and the boats that take you to the fort.”
“It does have a certain intrigue to it. What are the other points?” I asked.
“The first is Ashley Hall School, an all-girl academy here on the peninsula. The reason I am confident about this marker is that the original building for the school once belonged to George A. Trenholm…it was once his home in the city. The second location is Magnolia Cemetery where the man is buried.”
I paused at the thought. These locations made sense, but Hannah also seemed to be grasping at the obvious. Doubtful, I looked at the map and then at her.
“These locations seem too obvious, minus Liberty Square, and are we supposed to just dig for buried treasure where the lines of the cross intersect?”
“That’s the basic idea, but no. The lines intersect in a residential area with no real connection to Trenholm, or the James Family for that matter. We need to confirm these spots as markers and look for further clues. Hopefully, I’m right and somewhere there is a clue to the final location.”
“I’m game, but it’s because we haven’t got much else. I’m not questioning your research techniques or your theory, but I’ve learned not to be optimistic this early on. Something always goes wrong or we’ll find we’ve missed something obvious along the way.”
Hannah smiled. “I’m aware that I’m grasping, but a lot of it makes sense. Besides, it won’t hurt to go and look and if I’m wrong, we will know soon enough.”
“Okay, we’ll start the hunt tomorrow. Which spot do you want to hit first?”
“The square, then the school, and then we will save the cemetery for last.”
“Why’s that?” I asked.
“I believe there is an order that needs to be followed, and finding the ship carved into 1 Broad Street leads me to believe that we are supposed to go to the wharf next. When we get there it may point us somewhere else, or we may find nothing at all.”
“Why are we doing this again?”
“What do you mean?” Hannah asked, perplexed by my question.
“Why are we still following up on this? I was fired by Trenholm, threatened by Makem and a group of unknown men, and I’m wondering why we are still pushing forward?”
“To find out what secrets are worth the price of two individuals’ lives. Plus, I feel responsible for bringing Jason into this mess. If I hadn’t taken him on as my graduate assistant, had him research his own family, and push him to find answers he might still be alive. He definitely wouldn’t have gone through the books in his father’s study and found that letter, which seems to be what set this whole mess off.”
“And I feel the need to provide Bryce some answers into his friend’s death, so we march forward into the unknown…and hopefully don’t wind up dead ourselves.” I said.
Chapter 51
Elliott Tidwell drove a beat up Ford F-250 south on Highway 17. The truck, born in the seventies, was all white, speckled with rust, and missing the tailgate. It rumbled along on oversized tires that increased the noise in the cab as it struggled to maintain the sixty mile an hour speed limit. Tidwell had the windows down and his thin squirrelly hair blew about as he scanned the radio.
Charleston is a mini-metropolis surrounded by rivers, estuaries, creeks, and swamps all along the coast and west to Orangeburg. There are thousands of undisturbed acres where civilization is scarce and nature and history rule. There are small communities of blacks tucked into isolated areas, where they have been since Emancipation. Work is scarce and they never venture far from the plantations that once held them captive. Here, like most of the South is a contrast of life. While these small black enclaves struggled to survive another group sat as symbols of Southern power. Tucked along the banks of rivers, down long drives, and guarded with Spanish moss covered oaks were some of the wealthiest landowners in the South. Not all plantations
remained after the Civil War, but many did. Much of the Carolina Lowcountry was spared by Sherman’s torch and lived on as working farms, hunting grounds, and tourist attractions. Most
families that owned plantation homes did everything they could to hold on to their lasting symbol of the Old South.
The drive south along Highway 17 took Tidwell across the Edisto River, the Ashepoo, and through the ACE Basin. He was deep into plantation country. After a little more than a fifty mile drive he turned right onto White Hall Road, a narrow piece of pavement that wound its way through pristine forest, an old colonial church, barns long unused, and unmarked driveways. He continued until he came to Combahee Road and turned. Here the pavement narrowed further to one lane as he began to cross creeks, marshes, and abandoned rice fields on flimsy made bridges and earthen dams. The forest retreated leaving the land speckled with small brush, palmetto trees, and spacious live oaks.
Almost fifteen minutes after he turned off of Highway 17, Tidwell turned into a dirt drive marked only by a brick and wrought iron gate. There was no sign and no indication of what lay down the drive. The drive wound through the vegetation following a creek, as it made its way to the Combahee River. Deer scattered at the sound of the old truck and nature briefly retreated as it bounced along the dirt road. The creek split from the drive after a mile and the canopy above and around Tidwell opened to a field. On the right side, broken fencing marked once used grazing areas, and four abandoned cabins on the left hinted at the slaves once housed in them. Oak trees lined the drive, but some were missing and others sickly. The trees, the slave cabins, and the broken f
ence all spoke of history and grandeur, but the reality resembled a ghost town.
The truck chugged along kicking up dust as it moved towards the house on the river’s bluff. Chips were missing from the siding’s whitewash and the black shutters hung loosely closed. Tidwell pulled around what once was a fountain and parked the truck along the side of the home. He got out and reached back into the vehicle to grab his sword and a small bag from the passenger seat. Instead of going to the front of the house with its main entrance now rotting away, he moved to the back entering through a servant’s door. There, inside, was the home’s kitchen. Tidwell set down his belongings on the table and immediately
began a pot of coffee. There was work to be done, and he understood the terrible blow his objectives took when he messed up his confrontation with Francis. He must recharge, reevaluate, and organize himself. Failure was not an option this time.
The coffee pot began to churn and Tidwell got a cup from one of the cabinets. He knew that the professor was holding on to the letter, but Francis was always by her side. Somehow he needed her alone. He needed to have her all to himself and then she would tell him where the letter was, or better yet where it would lead him. If only, he thought…If only he could get her all the way out here.
Chapter 52
Liberty Square is on the northern edge of Charleston’s historic district and borders the Cooper River. On the north side of the square lies the Charleston Aquarium, an old theatre and some offices, and to the south is the Fort Sumter Welcome Center. A large park like setting sits in between with a grand entrance gate littered with tourists taking pictures while waiting for the boats out to the fort. Hannah and I had taken a pedicab and paid the driver in cash, with a hefty tip, before beginning our exploration of the area.
My initial thought was that we were in the wrong place. The large square was mostly open space covered with grass, a few benches, and even fewer monuments. If there were a clue here, one covered in markings, someone would have surely noticed it by now.
“Split up.” I suggested to Hannah.
“Good idea.”
We began to move in opposite directions. I went south and she went north. There was one path that ran the outer ring of the square and one that crossed through diagonally, so I began to walk the outer ring and figured we would meet in the middle. I took my time walking past the metal fence with the word square
scrawled into it, but the fence looked too new and I didn’t find a thing. In fact, the whole square looked too new with most of the fencing, benches, and even the landscaping all seemingly added recently. I needed to find something with a little age on it.
I walked past a large cemented area that led to the Fort
Sumter Welcome Center. There was a large brick pavilion filled with picnic tables and outlined with flag poles sporting the Stars and Stripes. I walked around the welcome center, taking care to examine the foundation, stairs, and even underneath where access was available. The brick structure was newly constructed and turned out to be the dead end I expected.
I moved towards the aquarium along the water and watched a water taxi bob up and down in its floating dock. I knew the aquarium was new and thought I would pass on checking it out, but I knew Hannah wouldn’t approve that approach. It took me twenty minutes to examine the building, all with the watchful eyes of their old security guard on me, only to find nothing. When I was done, I had spent almost an hour of my life walking around half the square for nothing. Heading towards the path that led diagonally through the grass I noticed that I couldn’t see Hannah. She had been easy to follow across the open space but appeared to have disappeared. I stopped and looked towards the theatre and the office buildings hoping she would materialize shortly.
With five more minutes of my life wasted, I finally decided to go look for her myself. Walking past the aquarium towards the theatre, I realized that there was a larger and older dock area that emerged before you got to the office building. At the edge where cement met the dock I noticed Hannah. She stood perfectly still and had her hand shading her eyes from the sun. Wind coming up the harbor from the ocean blew strands of her ponytail in mismatched directions. I yelled to her, but my words were blown away on the incoming sea breeze.
“What’s got you so entranced?” I asked, approaching her from behind. She jumped slightly startled.
“What? Oh, sorry you startled me.”
“What’s got your attention?”
Hannah changed her startled face to one that appeared to start a class lecture, firm and thoughtful. “Once upon a time this was the main dock area for Gadsden’s Warf.”
“How do you know?”
“See how many of those large pieces of wood are sticking out from the water?”
“Yeah, they look like supports.”
“They are. See how they extend into the river in rows. That and their size tell me they once supported large working docks at one time. Also, this is premium docking space, but when they built a new marina for the square they did so on the other side of the aquarium. Typical of Charleston’s style, they tried to preserve some aspect of history here.”
I thought it over for a moment. “Why preserve simple dock posts, which at the very least represented a dark part of Charleston history…the slave trade?”
“I agree. That’s why I was looking so intently. Why preserve rotting dock posts? Unless there was some importance or something important they still held.”
I began to stare with her scanning each individual post the best I could. The sun was causing glare and making it difficult.
“We may need a boat.” Hannah said.
“Hold on.” I said, looking at something I hadn’t noticed before.
Boulders fashioned a barrier between the river and the office building’s foundation. They created a wall extending along the water’s edge of the building, but then turned out into the river in the form of a breakwall. I began to climb out onto the rocks.
“What are you doing?” Hannah blurted.
“Going out there.” I said pointing out to the breakwall.
“I’m going too.”
Hannah climbed down behind me onto the skinny rock wall. There was not enough room to walk on top so we shimmied along the side with the building’s concrete in our face and the waters of the Cooper River grasping at us from below. Movement was slow as I grasped for rock edges that hurt my hands and foot holes that didn’t really exist. I slipped a couple times thinking that soon brackish water would be surrounding me. Hannah, on the other hand, ascended like a pro.
The rock wall finally turned into the breakwall and I eagerly leaped to its top, and even though the walk was uneven, it was better than hanging on the side of sharp stones. Hannah and I moved slowly down the pseudo pier as we checked out each wood support we came across. Most were severely rotten, and if something had been carved into one the salt water would have removed it long ago.
“No one would have carved a clue onto these old dock supports. See how rotten and worn they are?”
“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Hannah said. “It’s just that they are the only historical thing in this whole square.”
I kept walking down the length of the breakwall paying less attention to the old supports. Finally, I reached the end finding a sturdy spot to stand and looked out over the river. A freighter was making its way under the Ravenel Bridge, a beautifully constructed suspension bridge that opened in 2005. Charleston was an old and historic city but all around there were signs of its modern growth.
“Jack.” Hannah said.
“Where do we go from here?” Sincerely asking the question, while also quoting a title from a work by Dr. King. Knowing how many Africans were brought in from the very spot I was standing had me a little caught up in the power of the moment.
“Look down.”
I noticed Hannah was smiling as I took my gaze from the bridge and down to my feet. “Son of a bitch.” I said.
A flat rock, the one I was standing on, was co
vered in markings. It was two by two-foot square and to my astonishment in perfect shape. It was the only cut stone on the breakwall and would have to have been replaced every once in a while because of erosion from incoming waves, but there it was below my feet and covered with very familiar markings.
Chapter 53
“The stone was recently replaced or the carvings were redone.” Hannah said, as she snapped pictures with her phone. “The rocks are sturdy and would put up a fight with the brackish waves, but if this was laid at the same time the carvings at 1 Broad were done then they would have been a lot more worn.”
I stood back watching her work and giving her some room on the tiny breakwall. The water taxi was leaving from the other side of the aquarium hauling tourists over to Patriots Point. No one cared or even seemed to notice the two people at the end of a rocky outcropping. I smiled at the thought of tourists and that tunnel vision trait they all possess.